


purely business

by SerpentineJ



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, ok so this is written for classic muncle but i guess you could read it as reboot muncle?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>40. exes meeting again after not speaking for years au - napollya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	purely business

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: ok, so i wrote this as a prompt fill for attic-nights, like, two months ago? and i've been in such a bad writer's block rut these past few weeks i've been going back and rereading some of the stuff on my tumblr, and i figured i'd post this one. why? i don't know.
> 
> (and i wrote this at like 3 am so. it's my weird writing style amplified by the wee hours of the morning)

[ Alexander Waverly, U.N.C.L.E. Inc. President, seeking new New York board members. ]

<collision course by chance>

The phone rings.

“Illya Kuryakin,” the blonde, slight, pale man answers. 

It’s a man on the other end.

“Mister Kuryakin.” Old, British, distinguished- something familiar, like he’s heard it before, through the tinny speaker of a television set, or maybe in his daydreams.

“I have a proposition for you.”

~~~~~~

[ U.N.C.L.E. Inc. shares skyrocket under new management! ]

<it had been going so well>

“Cheers!” shouts Napoleon.

Illya, more subdued, raises his glass, filled with cold, clear, harsh liquid.

“Na zdorovje,” he says, and Solo smiles at his partner, at the sharp bite of the Russian, at the way he drinks his shot, at the way he supresses his smile at their success- he wouldn’t trade this for the world, he thinks, not as long as he has Illya with him.

He doesn’t want to imagine a scenario in which he does not.

~~~~~~

[ U.N.C.L.E. Inc. NYC executives have a falling out- can their partnership survive the personal turmoil? ]

<what had we even fought about>

“Mister Solo! Mister Solo, a few questions, please!”

The crowd follows him as he leaves the building for the last time. That old office, with their view, with their desks and their lazy susan conference table, with their half-carpet and half-hardwood, because Napoleon disliked the way his shoes rapped against the floor, but Illya felt carpet was unprofessional-

Was. Was. Was.

“Just a few questions, Mister Solo!”

Napoleon is vaguely aware of his escort shouting.

“No comment,” they say. “No comment.”

~~~~~~

[ Former U.N.C.L.E. Inc. execs Solo and Kuryakin to reunite at New York City Business Expo 2015! ]

<man, i never thought i’d see you again>

Fifteen years pass.

It’s a strange feeling, Kuryakin thinks, to be in the same building as Napoleon Solo again without knowing precisely where he is- the hurt of the man’s absence in his life has lessened somewhat, from a gut-wrenching sense of loss, loss, loss to a constant nagging- a reminder of the connection they had burned.

He sees Solo first.

The silver suits him, he thinks- his old friend has gone gray around the temples, skin looser than in his younger years, but his eyes are the same. Still warm and smug and friendly and so, so much Napoleon that it makes Illya turn down the hall and restrain himself from sprinting away, away from the pain that he knows he will feel if he allows Solo to look at him.

Of course, Napoleon sees him anyways.

“Illya!” He shouts, abandoning the young businesspeople he had been chatting with at the sight of briskly moving, dark-suit-clad legs, at that familiar mop of blonde hair, at those broad, pale hands- Illya takes one look over his shoulder and breaks into a run, which prompts Napoleon to race after him, tackling him in the middle of the hall, sitting on his old partner’s stomach, breathing heavily.

There’s silence. The young folk must think they’re quite mad.

Napoleon lets an ear-to-ear, jaw-splitting smile crack his face.

“It is so,” he cries, leaning over to bury his face in Kuryakin’s neck, “so good to see you.”

Illya stares at the ceiling, heartbroken and hopeful all over again.

~~~~~~

[Rumors of Solo/Kuryakin affair surface- both men quit jobs after NYC Busi2015, take trip to Europe. ]

<except in my dreams>

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” murmurs Kuryakin, warmly enclosed in his former-and-current partner’s arms, eyes sleep-soft, fluttering closed. The sun streams through the hotel windows and dances across their naked forms, which are covered only by a thin sheet, and sends warm thrills wherever its golden beams touches.

Solo smiles into his neck. “Neither am I, old friend.” He nuzzles his nose against the skin near the junction of Illya’s ear and neck. “I think we’ll manage.”

<but if you’re with me>

<we’ll be okay>

<we’ll find our way>

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: you can probably tell my writing gets really weird and experimental from 1-5 am. im so fucked up napollya fucks me up so badly
> 
> [who wants to scream about classic muncle w me](http://serpentinej.tumblr.com)


End file.
